Why Would I Ever Think Differently?
by SirVacuumThe3rd
Summary: Sherlock knows what he feels. John doesn't. Let the chaos ensue as they try to figure each other out, stepping on toes and their pushing their limits, each trying to show the other how they feel.


John opened the flat door to a wall of steam and the sound of rushing water.

_What the hell is going on?_ He wondered, quickly walking through the haze and putting the groceries on the table. He stopped in the warm, moist room, trying to make out why the flat was like a rain forest.

_Why? Why, why, why, why?!_ John thought as it suddenly clicked in his head. _The shower. The bloody shower!_ He remembered how you had to crack open the window_ all_ the way for it to work without covering the entire flat with steam.

He walked over to the bathroom, the steam increasing the closer he got. He was surprised to see the bathroom door open with all of the steam still escaping from it.

"Sherlock?" He called into the bathroom. "Are you in there?" He stood in the doorway, hearing no reply. He waited a bit longer before walking into the bathroom.

_Ugh. He forgot about it, didn't he? He probably left it on. He must know that water actually costs us _some_ money. Just like the one time he-_

He stopped mid-thought when he saw Sherlock sitting in the bathtub. He was in his clothes, sitting waist deep in the tub with the shower pelting his back with steaming hot water. He had his eyes closed as the water ran over him, a look of deep concentration on his face.

"Sherlock!" John yelled. "What the hell are you doing in the tub?!"

Sherlock snapped up, shooting an angry glare at John. "I _was_ thinking." He replied darkly from the water.

"What-what... Why?" John blubbered, watching as Sherlock slowly composed himself.

Sherlock sighed at him. John pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing deep.

_Oh, my life._

John reached over and shut off the water and opened the drain, watching as Sherlock stood up. Sherlock held his arms to the side as about five kilos of wet clothes hung from his thin body.

_He looks like a wet cat._ John snickered to himself at the thought.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything!" John replied, a smug smile on his face.

"You were thinking it."

"You have no proof." John said with a smile as he walked out of the bathroom. "I'm going to get some of your clothes to change into, okay?" He yelled over his shoulder to Sherlock. "Crack open that window!"

"Fine!" Sherlock yelled back.

John walked into Sherlock's room, heading right over to the dresser. He had been here before, he knew the lay out. Everything was kept tidy and neat in Sherlock's _head_, but out here...

_It's still a pigsty. He should think about cleaning up._

John's foot squished something under a old blanket.

_Don't look down, John. If you don't, you can pretend it's not some miscellaneous body part._ He thought as he shuddered.

John reached into the dresser and pulled out a pair of trousers and a white shirt. He turned around and walked back to the bathroom.

"Sherlock," He said as he went in. "Do you have body parts in your-" He stopped at the sight in from if him.

"Oh! Oh, bloody hell! C'mon Sherlock! Decency here!" He yelled, shoving a hand over his eyes quickly. He turned around ran straight into a wall. "Shit!"

Sherlock laughed at him, calmly walking out of the tub where he had shed his wet clothes. "Thanks for the clothes."

"Piss off, you wanker. And put some bloody clothes on!" John snapped, dropping the new clothes on the floor and reaching blindly for the doorway. He kept his hand firmly on his eyes and he scooted down the wall.

"You know John..." Sherlock started, walking closer, the new clothes going unnoticed.

"Oi! Stay back!" John yelled, finally reaching the door. He speedily pulled himself through and slammed the door behind him.

"But John!" He heard Sherlock yell from the bathroom.

"Shut it! I don't want to hear it and I don't want to know!" John yelled back, dropping his hand and looking around at the still slightly steamy flat.

"What the bloody hell..." He mumbled, shaking his head and walking off to the kitchen.

"You know you want me!" Came Sherlock's muffled yell from behind him.

"I'm not gay!" He shouted back, walking into the kitchen to put away the forgotten groceries.

* * *

Sherlock walked into the kitchen later, stopping at the table to watch John cook dinner. It was soup night, which meant it was John's turn to cook. He had his back to Sherlock, standing calmly and mindlessly stirring the soup.

"John, I'm-"

"I don't want to hear it, Sherlock." John said without turning around. He kept stirring. "I don't want to know why or how it was an experiment or how-"

"No, John. Listen." Sherlock said, starting across the kitchen.

_I need you to understand this, John. Just listen to me._

John stiffened as Sherlock came closer, the spoon he was using to stir sliding out of his hand and slipping into the pot. He clenched his jaw, trying to keep his relaxed stance.

_John, I can see when you do that. You know I can._

"John, I'm sorry. What I've done, I apologize for." Sherlock said quietly, watching John.

John turned around and stared at him. His eyes looked him up and down, finally landing on his serious expression. He took in a breath, standing perfectly still.

_Heart rate accelerating. Eyes glancing side to side scoping out escape routes. Swallowing becoming tough. Fists clenched. Fight or flight, John?_

John looked at Sherlock, then bolted. He tried run past Sherlock, but Sherlock grabbed his wrist, pulling him to a stop.

"Sherlock!" John yelled, squirming in his grasp. "Let me go!"

"John, you have to see that-"

"No! Sherlock!" He stopped squirming and looked down. Sherlock watched him shift uncomfortably.

_Please understand me, John._

John sighed and looked back up at Sherlock. "Just-just give me some time." He whispered, his voice desperate.

Sherlock stared at him and dropped his grip, stepping back silently. He hung his head and let John brush past him.

* * *

John felt guilty as he walked into the flat, his first time leaving his room since the incident with Sherlock last night. He saw Sherlock standing at the window, his back turned to him. He smiled slightly at him, reminded of how he could stand there for hours on end. His smile dropped when he remembered _why_ Sherlock was standing at the window. He quietly walked past, slipping out the door and down the stairs without Sherlock noticing.

_Come back._ Sherlock thought, pressing his hand to the glass as John walked away down the street.

* * *

John wrapped his arms around himself as he stumbled out of bed. He glanced at the clock; 1:17 am. He slipped on his slippers and padded out to the kitchen.

He grabbed the kettle and put it on the stove, quietly humming to himself. He shuffled over to the cupboards and got out some tea, his fingers unconsciously grabbing onto his favorite. He yawned and grabbed a mug, placing it by the kettle. He settled down in a chair and closed his eyes, still humming.

"Mind if I have a cup?"

John jumped up and looked up at Sherlock standing back in the doorway.

_Don't be scared of me. I'm not going to try anything._

"Hey," John mumbled, sitting back down and rubbing his face tiredly. "Yeah, sure. Knock yourself out."

"Thanks." Sherlock said, walking over and grabbing a mug. He grabbed his tea and poured out hot water for both of them. Sherlock placed the kettle down, picking up the mugs and sitting across the table from John, passing John's mug over.

"Thank you." John mumbled, sipping at his hot tea.

"What were you humming?" Sherlock asked, trying to get John to talk with him.

John looked up at him, a small smile on his face. "One I've heard you playing before."

Sherlock smiled back at him, his cautiousness starting to dissolve. He and John could work this out. They'd make it out.

"Sherlock," John started, his face turning stony, not letting his emotions through. "About yesterday. I want to say that I'm trying to cope with this. I do admit, it could be worse. I'm not saying I don't have feelings, I'm just not sure what those feelings _are._ And I'm...I'm making sense out of this and coming to terms. It's just...I'm sorry, Sherlock. I truly am."

"There's nothing to be sorry about." Sherlock said. "I messed up. _I_ did. I thought we were thinking the same things. I thought you felt the same way I did." Sherlock said, trying to not show his anger towards himself. To this whole situation he had gotten them into to. he clenched his fists. "It seemed obvious then, but now it's just some stupid, half-witted, idiotic-" Sherlock took a breath and closed his eyes. He pushed his chair back forcefully and got up. He gritted his teeth, already furious at himself for being so oblivious. "I'm sorry, John." He said, quickly turning around and walking out of the kitchen.

_Idiot! You're pathetic, you know that? You don't deserve him if he did like you! Pathetic._

"Sherlock, wait!" John yelled, quickly getting up, knocking over his mug in the process. "Sherlock!" He went after him, ending up in front of Sherlock's bedroom door, the slamming sound sound still echoing in his ears.

* * *

"Sherlock," John started when Sherlock walked into the flat. "I've thought about this-"

"I don't want to hear it, John." Sherlock said, taking off his coat and plopping down on the couch. He sighed and closed his eyes, his brain already starting to tune out the world.

"You might want to."

"Trust me, I don't." Sherlock said, his eyes still closed.

"Well," John said, never one to give up easily. "I'm going to tell you anyways." He took a breath. "I've decided what my feelings are for you." He waited for a reaction.

_Can you not hear me? Have you lost interest in me that quickly?_

"Mmm-hmm?" Came Sherlock's inattentive reply.

"Sherlock listen! This is hard for me!" John snapped, getting up from his seat and standing above Sherlock.

_Listen to me!_

"Did you ever think this wasn't hard for me?!" Sherlock snapped back, his eyes flashing open and staring angrily at John. "Did you think this was a walk in the park for me?!"

"Yes!" John yelled, his voice getting louder. "You! Who never shows his emotions! You! Who always acts above everyone! You! Who can't-"

"And what about you?!" Sherlock yelled, standing up and facing John. He jabbed him in the chest with a long finger. "You! You're a part of this too! You can't come to terms with your feelings when they're obviously right in front of you!"

John's face clouded over, his anger threatening to become even worse. John glared at Sherlock's close face. Sherlock glared back also, furious at John for being so ignorant. John clenched his fists, ready to take a good, hard swing at Sherlock's face.

"Sherlock dear. It's Mrs. Hudson." She said as she walked into the flat, a letter in her hand. She stopped halfway through the door. "I have a letter for you... Oh. Is this a bad time?" She asked, seeing both of them glaring angrily at each other.

_Take the letter. If you don't, you'll end up hurting him even more than you already have._

"No, Mrs. Hudson, this is a fine time." Sherlock said, quickly slipping back on his neutral face and walking over. He took the letter and walked off. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson!" He called over his shoulder, already sitting on the couch and opening his letter. Mrs. Hudson glanced at John, a concerned look on her face. John shook his head at her. She looked back at Sherlock.

"You're welcome, dearie." She said, glancing uncertainly at John before leaving the flat.

John sighed and walked over to Sherlock. "I'm sorry, I just-" He stopped. "I'll be in my room if you need me." He said, walking out.

Sherlock sat there for a moment, the useless letter in his hands. He let it drop and flutter to the ground. He turned and looked where John had just stood, already missing him.

* * *

"John?" Sherlock poked his head in. "Are you in here?"

"Yeah, come in." he called, looking up from his book. "I'm by the window."

Sherlock stepped into the room, carefully closing the door behind him. "Hey." He said, walking over and sitting next to John on the floor. He wrapped his arms around his legs and put his head on his knees.

"Hey yourself." John said, putting down his book and sitting cross legged next to him on the floor. "Nice day we're having."

"Very."

John yawned, accidentally leaning on Sherlock. "Oh!" John said, quickly leaning back from the touch.

"No, no. Don't worry. It's fine." Sherlock said hurriedly, a blush appearing on his face.

John laughed, his eyes shining. "Sherlock, blushing?" He smiled. "I must be dreaming."

Sherlock blushed harder, quickly hiding his smiling face in his hands. "Hush up." He mumbled, trying not to laugh.

"Oh? We're going to be five year olds, are we?" John laughed, pushing Sherlock. He tipped over, letting out an undignified sound as he hit the floor. John doubled over laughing at Sherlock sprawled on the floor. Sherlock glared at him.

"That's how it's going to be then!" Sherlock yelled, grabbing John's arm and pulling him on the ground also. He fell with a clunk as he landed on the ground, a huge smile on his face. They both dissolved in a fit of giggles. Sherlock tried to cover his mouth to stop them, making John laugh even harder at him.

"Shut up!" Sherlock yelled, laughing at John.

"I can't breathe!" John yelled, holding his stomach while still laughing. He laid his head on the floor, his body still shaking with tiny bursts of laughter.

Sherlock gasped, suddenly stunned. He watched John keep laughing, his eyes crinkling. Sherlock couldn't find his breath, the sudden urge to run his hand along John's face overtaking all of his other thoughts.

He reached out, swiftly grazing John's cheek.

"Woah." John said, quickly opening his eyes to Sherlock's cold, gentle fingers brushing his cheek. He stopped moving and stared at Sherlock, his eyes soft in a way John had never seen them before.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?" He said, still tracing his cheek. When John didn't say anything, he stopped and stared at John, his gaze meeting his. "Oh!" He realized what he was doing and quickly drew his hand back and looked away. "Sorry."

"No," John said, slowly taking Sherlock's hand uncertainly. "It's okay." He smiled. "More than okay."

Sherlock looked back at him, watching his response. John watched him also, wrapping his fingers around Sherlock's. He smiled slightly, butterflies in his stomach making it hard to stay calm.

"John..." Sherlock said cautiously. "May I kiss you?"

John didn't say anything, still captivated by Sherlock's eyes. How soft, how sweet, how _vulnerable_ they looked. How much he _wanted_ to stare into them for hours. For days. To wake up to them in the morning. To open his eyes and to be met with them, to know that they were directed at _him._

"John?" Sherlock asked again, his grip starting to loosen as he tried to draw his hand back out of John's.

"Yes." John said quietly, throwing that out there for Sherlock. For himself. For them. He stared at Sherlock, watching as he leaned his forehead against his, his verdigris eyes shining at him. Sherlock smiled, slightly tilting his head and kissing John, a thrilling, warm feeling spreading through him as John kissed him back.


End file.
